


Delete or Be Deleted

by TotalSkeletonTrash



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: au stuff, chill or be chilled stuff, etc - Freeform, hi, this is bad tagging, um
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-05-23 16:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6122618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotalSkeletonTrash/pseuds/TotalSkeletonTrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't read this if you haven't read Chill or Be Chilled because it'll make no sense.<br/>Sometimes I write canon stuff for CoBC that doesn't actually get published, and I want to make sure that you guys who don't follow my tumblr get to see it too, so... Here's where any random drabbles/deleted scenes/things that aren't in Chill or Be Chilled go! </p><p>But seriously, read CoBC first. All of it, ideally, cuz spoilers live here. Unless otherwise noted, this is canon, bt dubbz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Lawyerpants Gets a Backstory

Burgerpants emerges, blinking, into a new world, one filled with possibilities. Cameras are going off, right and left, so many he can’t keep track of them. He can’t think, can barely breathe. The sun is warm on his fur. 

“You! You, what are your plans, now that you’re on the surface?!” A reporter asks. Burgerpants hesitates. Not a frycook, not a frycook, he thinks desperately. He thinks of a Mettaton special, more or less out of nowhere, the one where Mettaton had conclusively argued before a jury of Mettatons that Mettaton was the best. 

“A lawyer.” He rasps. “I’m gonna be a lawyer.”   
—————-  
There’s not a law school that doesn’t want to give him a full scholarship. He has his pick, suddenly. His future is his.

He picks the best.

His first day, his first year (his only year) he sits down in a crowd of humans, feeling small and stupid and nervous. His Contracts professor walks out, squinting at the crowd. The old man sees the monster in their midst and glares.

“Who can tell me,” He growls, standing behind his podium, “what are the elements of a contract?” He looks down at the class list, then grins. “Burgerpants?” He drawls. The class looks at him in silence, and god, that silence is palpable, a physical feeling on his skin, under his fur. He waits for a second, thinking that surely, the professor is just playing with him, that nobody would expect a first year student on his first day of class to be able to answer. The professor glares. 

“Uh. Offer. Acceptance. Consideration?” Burgerpants says anxiously. The professor looks at him, then slowly grins. 

“How many times did you read the textbook before class, son?” He asks. 

“Uh, four times, sir.” Burgerpants mutters. 

“And who else read the text four times?” The professor asks. No hands are raised. “How about once, then?” The professor asks, sounding almost bored. 

Nobody answers. Burgerpants squirms slightly, somewhere between pride and terror. 

“Burgerpants, eh?” The professor says. “Seems more like Lawyerpants to me.”

————————-

“We need a lawyer.” Snowdrake begs.

“I’m a first year!” Burgerpants says desperately. “I don’t know shit, little buddy, I can’t-”

“You’re all we monsters have!” Snowdrake insists. “Learn faster, man, we’re getting evicted!”

“I’m learning as fast as I can!” Burgerpants insists. 

“Is that true?” Heats Flamesman asks, looking wide eyed at Burgerpants. Burgerpants grimaces. 

“I’ll try.” He whispers. 

————————–

He graduates, top of the class, two years ahead of schedule. He hasn’t really slept for months, but hell, he’s used to that. Mettaton used to keep him to a more demanding schedule, and at least this time, he’s using his brain. He sends a single invitation to his graduation out. 

Mettaton doesn’t show.  
————————–  
The offers flood in, but he picks an equal rights nonprofit. He’s almost immediately on the partner track. Nobody calls him Burgerpants anymore, he’s far beyond that. He’s got corporate clients, of course, he’s gotta pay the bills, but he’s here for one reason, to help his friends. 

He gets the call from Toriel. 

This should be interesting.


	2. In Which Sans Experiences the Joys of Nineties Music

It is 5:37 PM on December 29th, and for the first time in recent memory, you’ve actually got some time on your own. Papyrus is in the kitchen, making lasagna. Undyne and Alphys are unpacking, or canoodling, or a combination of the two. Frisk and Toriel are practicing signing upstairs in Frisk’s room. Lesser Dog is in the backyard, digging an unsightly hole to bury his rawhide bone in by the moonlight. Sans, after being enough of a sport to get in a snowball fight with you and Frisk (and Papyrus and Undyne) for most of the afternoon, is back upstairs in the lab. He has things that need checking up on, apparently. And so it’s just you, for once, to do whatever you want. 

You eye the envelope on your desk in your bedroom, wondering if you really want to do this. Really. REALLY? Your first few minutes alone in however long, and you’re really going to - 

You sigh, and run your skeletal finger along the envelope seam, taking out the perforated slip of paper. 

“Revised quarterly earning statement, 9/1 - 12/31.” It reads, and displays, in addition to your normal earnings, the balance of the bonus Beth had just approved the other day. Well, Carlos in accounting worked diligently, you knew that. And so should you. Who knew the next time you’d even think about this? Just get it done, double check in a month, and file, _________. 

Yup. Time to do your damn taxes.   
\------------------------------------

It’s actually not that painful. It never is. Pull up a program, answer some questions, and you’re more than halfway there. Your refurbished macbook (bought when it was five years old, for too much money anyway) puts up a valiant protest, but in the end, it manages to keep both a browser and itunes open at the same time, so you get to put a playlist on while you work. 

Maybe you get a little into it. 

“what is that?” His voice comes from out of nowhere. 

“MOTHER OF GOD.” You clap your hand to your heart and whirl around in your desk chair to see Sans standing there, looking like he’s trying very hard not to laugh at you. “Jeez, I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“well, yeah. music’s loud. what is that?” He nods at the computer, and you grimace. 

“A year end earnings statement? Well, it’s not official, it’s not year-end yet, but I figured that the figures weren’t going to change in the next few days so I could get a head start before I get my official statement in the mail, since that probably won’t be out until like the fifteenth-”

“no no no. i mean, that’s interesting. well, no, i mean, that’s really not at all interesting. actually... no offense but that is the least interesting thing you’ve ever said.” You glare at him, and he smirks at you. “but i mean, what’s that music?” He says, hopping up on the bed. 

“Oh!” You laugh, then shrug. “Uh, it’s Smells Like Teen Spirit.”

“what?” He looks very interested.

“You know, from Nevermind?” You prompt.

“babe, pretend i spent the last twenty-five years underground.” He says, very dryly.

“...Nobody threw out a Nirvana CD?” You say, and he blinks.

“this is nirvana?” He says, wide eyed. You can’t help but grin. 

“Uh, yeah! You like it?”

“holy shit.” He says, nodding quickly. “we never had anything like this underground. what do you call this?”

“Uh, grunge? I guess? Yeah, I mean, I’ve heard Mettaton and his cousin, I guess you guys went a different direction down there. Like, awesome stuff, though, just different.”

“grunge.” He repeats. “sounds like um…”

“Really good sulking music.” You supply, and he laughs and nods. 

“yeah. yeah. exactly. man, these guys must be the richest musicians on the planet right now.” 

You look at him, his eyes half closed, looking fully enthralled by the song. Oh god, you don’t have the heart to tell him just now. 

“Heh. Kinda.” You mutter, and hop out of your desk chair to settle next to him. “Hm, am I gonna need to get you some flannel and ripped jeans?” He looks blankly at you. “Uh, that’s what they wore when this was popular. Grunge.” You explain with a laugh, and he snorts. 

“nah. think i’ve found my personal fashion already.”

“You certainly have.” You laugh, flopping onto your back. He follows suit, his eyes closing as the last few notes fade out. For a second, you think he’s about to take a nap - you’ve already discovered that he can fall asleep that fast - but when the next song starts up, he asks, 

“who’s this one?” You try not to snicker. 

“Uh. TLC. No Scrubs.”

“huh.” He’s clearly less enthused than he was about Nirvana, but he still seems to be paying close attention. “man. we missed so much, being down there.” He finally mutters.

“I know.” You sigh, finding his hand and twisting your fingers through his. “I can’t imagine what it was like, the first few days.”

“amazing. it was amazing.” He says, without hesitation. “but once culture shock set in a little more, well… i dunno. it wasn’t like i wanted to go back home, but… it wasn’t an option, even?” He says, sounding a little surprised that he’s expressing this thought. “like, in old books, hero goes on an adventure, learns a lot, comes back and helps his village or his family or whatever. but with us… home is gone for good. i mean, snowdin’s still there, but it’ll never be the same. hardly anyone lives there anymore. who would ever want to?” 

“So… it was worth it, getting out, even after all the…” You pause, then squeeze his hand with your skeletal one, driving the point home, reminding him with the gesture of the attack, the attitude that your fellow humans had towards him, “the bad shit that humans have brought you, since you got out?”

“are you kidding me?” He says, grinning now and looking at you like you’re telling a joke. “have you even seen it out here? yes! totally worth it. still so much to learn, too. so many more things to discover.” He says, and you can tell nothing makes him happier than that concept, that there’s so much left to learn. 

“Heh. Good thing you’ve got a useful human around to keep you up to date on top bands of the 1990s.” You say with a crooked smile, and he nods without laughing. 

“i sure as hell am.” He sighs, and turns to kiss your cheek quickly. “woah, woah, wait.” He’s distracted as the music changes again. “what’s this one?!” You grin and shrug. 

“Uh. Tubthumping. Chumbawamba.” You say, and he looks admiringly up at the ceiling. 

“this is awful. i want to listen to it a million times.” He says, marvelling, and you burst out laughing, knowing exactly what he means. 

****************************  
He’s so lost in thought about his experiments that he doesn’t even notice himself muttering under his breath.

“get knocked down, but i get up again, you ain’t-”

“WHAT, BROTHER?” Papyrus halts in the middle of cutting a slice of lasagna for him, a dubious expression on his face.

“heh, nothing! nothing.” He covers quickly, trying to remember how literally any other song went. 

It’s stuck in his head on constant repeat for the next three days. 

He still doesn’t regret coming to the surface.


	3. In Which Alphys and Undyne Are Totally Chill

November 19th

She pushes open the door to the cramped campus housing, a cautious smile on her face, her duffel bag thrown over her shoulder. 

Alphys is sitting on the couch, nose buried in a manga, trying very hard not to jump up and begin badgering Undyne immediately. She looks up slowly, painfully casually, the tip of her tail twitching just a little. 

“O-Oh, hey!” She says, and Undyne winces. Alphys normally doesn’t stutter anymore, not when it’s just the two of them. Her baby was nervous, that much was clear. “H-h-how was your first day?” Undyne plops down her duffel by the door, and gives Alphys her widest, what she considers most reassuring smile. 

“It was great, sweetie. Honestly. It was really good.” She says, immediately heading to the fridge to crack open a can of beer. Alphys eyes this with a lack of trust. She’s got a can of Mountain Dew open in front of her, herself, though, so she can’t really complain. 

“Baby, what happened?” Alphys insists, standing up and walking over into the small kitchen to nuzzle Undyne’s shoulder. “It doesn’t sound like it was good.” Undyne sighs, thinking back on her day. 

“It really wasn’t all bad.” She promises. “I spent the first half of the day filling out provisional paperwork. I guess the aquarium director went ahead and got permission for three guest monster worker spots, I’m just the first one hired, but it’s all legal, which is good. We’re gonna get that sweet human skrilla.” 

“Don’t call it that.” Alphys laughs, and Undyne grins. 

“It was fine. Just… some old lady spat at me when I left the orientation room. Another employee at the aquarium.”

“What?!?”

“Yeah. Nobody saw, it was just me and her in the hall, but…” Undyne sighs, and Alphys lets out a squeaky, indignant growl. “Hey, my trainer’s really nice, though?” 

“O-oh yeah?” Alphys says dubiously. “The b-bar seems pretty low with your new co-workers.” 

“No, no, I promise, she’s a sweetheart.” Undyne takes Alphys hand and tugs her back to the couch, then cuddles up against her. “She barely even did a double-take, and she offered to shake my hand first, and she seemed really happy to have a partner. Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s the same girl who told me to apply for a bigger job than a ticket taker in the first place.”

“O-oh, well… that’s nice, I guess!” Alphys says optimistically, wrapping her tail around Undyne’s back. 

“Yeah, I think so. She gave me a little tour today, said we’d get started on penguins tomorrow.”

“Neat!” 

“Yeah. Hey… sweetie, do you know what a penguin is?” 

\---------------------------------------

November 21

Undyne pushes the door open, her eye lit up. Alphys has blueprints out on the dining table, but looks up quickly. 

“Hey! You’re home late, everything okay?” 

“Oh! Yeah, totes. ________ stayed for the night feeding shift, so I hung back and stayed with her. It was really fun being there after hours!” 

“Have you nailed down whether penguins are fish or birds yet?” Alphys demands. 

“Uh, birds. Ninety nine percent sure they’re birds. Man, man, so something neat happened?” Undyne sits down with a clatter into the chair opposite Alphys, still looking excited. Alphys winces - it wouldn’t be the first chair her girlfriend’s broken, but this one survives. 

“What’s that, sweetheart?” She asks, her attention already slipping back to the blueprints. 

“Uh, so when me and ________ were leaving, there were some dudes in the parking lot?”

“Uh oh. Human or -”

“Human. And, they, you know. They yelled.”

“Baby…”

“Yeah, I know. They wanted to know if I, uh, fucked all the fish in the aquarium.”

“Oh, god, Undyne, what-”

“No, no, here’s the thing!” Undyne’s eye sparks again with barely concealed mirth. “_________. She just strolled up to them and… it was beautiful, baby. She just went on this rant like… god, I wish I’d recorded it. Something along the lines of ‘you greasy, toothless hick bigots can’t imagine not wanting to fuck animals, can you? Makes sense, since your dating pool and your family tree are identical and they both come from the same barn out back…’” Undyne cackles. Alphys claps a hand to her mouth, giggling. “Oh my god, but it was better, though. She was ruthless. It was like two minutes. One of them looked like they might want to take a swing at her, but they looked at me again and reconsidered…” Undyne grins, a big, predatory smile. “They eventually just left. Man, I really like that human.”

“Ooooh, should I be jealous?” Alphys teases, and Undyne rolls her eye. 

“Nah. I like my ladies short and yella’.” She says in her best hick accent. “But… man. I like that nerd. 

\-------------------------------------------  
November 28th. 

“Alphys.”

“What?”

“She made fourteen fish puns today.” 

“What??” Alphys blinks. 

“_______. She made fourteen fish puns.”

“Well, that’s a sign, right?” Alphys laughs. “She’d fit right in with, um, the gang! We should invite her out next time.” 

“Oh, she gets all weird and slippery! Which is something she’d totally make a fish pun about!” Undyne laughs. “I asked her over for dinner tonight, and she was just like ‘nah, you don’t wanna have dinner with me, I’d be a burden, oh, whoops, gotta feed my cat see ya-’ I don’t think she has too many friends.”

“Oh, that’s sad! You’re making me sad now!” Alphys says, shifting from foot to foot. “Can we fix it?”

\------------------------------------------

December 3

“When can I meet her?” Alphys whines, the second Undyne walks in. “You’re smiling again. Did she do something cool?” 

“She stepped on a fish that one of the chicks regurgitated and slipped and fell and then tried to save her dignity by doing a ‘casual pose’ while tourists took pictures.” Undyne says, trying not to snicker. 

“I’m like… the biggest fangirl.” Alphys sighs. “She’s like a heroine in a s-slice of life anime.” 

“I know. I know. She’s amazing. She’s definitely not dating anyone, I asked her and she kind of made this weird honking laugh at the idea.”

“Oooh. Great factoid, put it in the friend journal.”

“On it.” Undyne flips through the small book labeled “We Are Totally Going To Make Friends With ________.” “Baby, have you been illustrating this?” She says, surprised.

“Uh eh…. heh?” Alphys says, her cheeks turning red. “I still haven’t even met her! Just doodles to help me come up with ideas!”

“...Is she smooching Asgore in this doodle? Hey! This actually kinda looks like her!” Undyne giggles. “She wouldn’t be good with Asgore, hell, he’s way too… fluffy. In the nice way, not the furry way. She’s nice too, but… I don’t know, not like Asgore is. Also, Asgore’s a million.”

“It’s art. It doesn’t have to make sense.” Alphys says firmly. 

“You’re just saying that because youuuuuu have a cruuuuuush on him.” Undyne taunts, and Alphys turns scarlet. “Anyway. I think by next week I’ll be on official ‘have lunch with me and my girlfriend level,’ and then… friendship city, baby.” They high five. 

“Hey, question.” 

“S-shoot.” 

“Is this a weird hobby we’ve developed?” Undyne asks Alphys. Alphys looks at her for a long second, and then they both grin. 

“Nahhh.” 

\-----------------------------------------

“Okay. Lunch was a wild success.” 

“Y-Yeah!” Alphys agrees. They’re in Undyne’s car, heading home after work - Alphys had a meeting in the city, so she’d been able to carpool back. “She really is nice, Undyne. We totally have a neat human friend now.”

“And she liked when we told her Paps stories, right? She seems open to hanging out with more of us??” 

“Yeah! S-She really liked the one where he wore hotpants to the DMV.” 

“Well, Paps and Frisk have a day off soon, maybe you could bring them by the aquarium for a field trip?” Undyne proposes. “Get her in with the group. Maybe Sans’ll come too.” 

“Sans won’t come, he spends every single day either working on proposals or sulking in his b-bedroom.”

“Heh. ‘Sulking.’” Undyne waggles her eyebrows furiously at her girlfriend, taking her eyes off the road for a second. 

“Oh, don’t be gross, Undyne, I d-don’t want to think about - oh my god.” 

“What?”

“Oh my god.”

“WHAT!?”

Alphys blinks at Undyne, a marvelling look in her eyes. 

“...I just had the greatest _______ idea ever.”

\-------------------------------------------

“HOKAY. RED ALERT. RED ALERT.”

“‘ndyne, I’m ‘leepy….” Undyne bounces down on the bed in the darkness, shaking Alphys awake. 

“No time for sleep! This is very very very serious. This is the most serious thing that’s ever happened. This is the most important thing in either of our lives.”

“Whazzat?” A blurry rectangle of light is pushed into Alphys’ face. “Can’t… read?” Alphys yawns, and Undyne groans and grabs her glasses from the bedside table, mashing them onto her girlfriend’s face. She’s offering her cellphone. 

Sans: 10:46 PM  
hey  
just out of curiosity  
met your pal ______ at the vet today  
ld is fine btw he can eat lizards  
but  
sorry this is a lot of texts  
anyway   
again out of curiosity   
which numbers would i press on my phone if i wanted to call her  
…  
the order of those numbers would also be useful.  
okay.   
thank you.   
this is so many messages.   
hey undyne  
know why alphys likes you so much  
you raptor round your finger  
ok bye

 

Alphys stares at the torrent of texts for a long time.  
“...Oh, this is amazing.” She finally breathes.

“Baby. You need to text him right now.” 

“Give him her number first!”

“He needs to come to lunch with us tomorrow! Paps and Frisk are already in!” 

“I’ll ask him, just give him her number! What if you’re getting in the way of true love! What if you’re the villain!?” Alphys demands. Undyne groans, and acquiesces, sending off the number to Sans. “Good. Now we wait five minutes. In the meantime, we can add this to ‘Human Neko Monster Kissy 2.’”

“That is the greatest name for a manga.” Undyne sighs admiringly, as Alphys sits up in bed and cracks open the new book, sketching out a panel. She doesn’t reply, just sticks the tip of her tongue out while she draws and five minutes creep past, sleep entirely forgotten. Finally, though, she puts the book down and picks up her phone. 

“Hey Sans! Just wanted to know if you’d reconsidered coming to the aquarium tomorrow with me and Frisk and Papyrus. We’re gonna take Undyne and her coworker _______ out to lunch too!” She dictates, and Undyne thinks for a second, then nods judiciously. Send it. 

He answers quite quickly, so quickly that they both surmise he hasn’t even put his phone down. 

Sans: 10:52 PM  
sure. i’m in.  
aquariums are technically science so it’s cool. 

“Gimme your phone.” Undyne grins at Alphys. 

“Baby, don’t.” 

“Please?” The dinosaur glares at her sternly. “Oh, come on, I’m not going to say anything mean.” Undyne finally capitulates. With one last warning glare, Alphys passes over the phone. 

“Oh, and Sans? Don’t forget to bring a water bottle tomorrow.” Undyne drawls, dictating what she’s typing under the guise of being Alphys. 

Sans: 10:54 PM  
wat.  
...why. 

Alphys: 10:55 PM  
Oh, you know.   
Because you’re so very very very veryvery  
Thirsty.

Undyne’s phone begins to buzz with texts as Sans realizes that he’s been tricked into thinking he was dealing with the kinder of the pair. Undyne ignores his invective, and exchanges a quick fist bump with Alphys. After all, he should be thankful. 

This shit was destiny.


	4. In Which Gaster Fails to Come Through in the Clutch

You thought dying would be…   
Faster.   
You’d held onto the void as long as you could, let your arm drift apart up to your shoulder, before you’d slipped. You were still falling apart, in the snow, and those parts of you that weren’t falling apart were screaming in such pain that you wished they were.  
Ghost was screaming too, wails like you’d never heard from him. High pitched, painful - he clung to you with his claws, digging into the flesh, but you didn’t mind so much right now. There were bigger hurts to worry about.   
“____________! NO!” Papyrus. Oh, god, you hadn’t wanted Papyrus to see this, hadn’t wanted him to carry this weight, he was too young, he couldn’t-  
“wha-” Sans is there. There’s a flash.

***************************************************

He’d told you earlier that day, that he had a few seconds leeway in time when he made a doorway. He had a few seconds. He could be there a few seconds earlier. He could make it. He could stop this. It would be fine. He’d stop it. It would be fine. Just had to push. Go as early as he could. He could do it. Ten seconds, maybe, that’s all he needed, but the longer he waited, the less-

He steps out of the doorway just in time to see you crash down to the ground.

“no.” He whispers. Too late. Not enough time. Not enough fucking time.

“SANS, WHERE DID YOU - AGH!”

“stay back, paps.” He whispers brokenly, dropping to his knees. “don’t look, bud.” He leans over you, dropping to his knees, a finger pressed to your neck, searching for your pulse, but he knows he won’t find it - the void is chewing away at you, some dark magic, some chaos, it’s clung to you, it’s making you drift away piece by tiny piece. 

“S….” You hiss, and for a second, he thinks you’re speaking to him, that you might be saying his name, but it’s just the last air rushing out from your lungs, and your eyes go vacant, and you’re gone. You’re gone. He’s let them take you and you’re gone.

“‘m so sorry.” He whispers, reaching for the hand that’s still flesh and blood - for now. “i love you. i’m so sorry.” Your hand is limp - it’s never felt like this in life. You’d never let it. 

Something that’s never been very strong, a self erected barrier so weak it might as well have not been there at all, it gives way then, and Sans straightens up slowly. 

“IS SHE-”

“get inside, bro.” 

“S-SANS. WHAT ARE YOU-”

“INSIDE.” Sans bellows, a sound Papyrus has never heard before. There’s a tear in the universe, a terrible, heartstopping tear the size of the poolhouse, and Sans reaches out into that void, calling them with the pain and the fury in his soul.

Papyrus whimpers and sprints indoors.

“this wasn’t supposed to happen again. not on the outside. not up here.” Sans whispers to himself, his mind stuttering and heaving in awful, uncomfortable waves. “little shit was right all along. always was. it’s kill or be killed out here.” The Gaster Blasters are coming now, obediently drifting out of that tear like soldiers falling in formation. “hey guys.” Sans whispers. One - his personal favorite - glides forward, waiting for a command. “you guys ready to play?” Sans chokes out, and the leader of the pack barks out a triumphant roar that echoes in Sans’ skull. 

He finds that he can’t turn his back, can’t leave you alone in the snow like this, but work needs to be done, it simply needs to, so he looks at the twenty odd Blasters again, and points at the smallest. She’s still the size of a healthy grizzly, but compared to her older brothers and sisters…

“stay with her.” He orders. “don’t let anyone touch her.”

The Blaster chirps in his head, and floats away from the pack. She drops down in the snow next to you, pressing along the length of your body. He watches this for a second, his vision swimming, and then he blinks the tears away and looks at the rest of the pack. 

“lessgo.”   
___________________________________

How can he leave you?

How can he see you’re not gone yet?

Oh, god, you’re going to die alone. You’re going to fade away and be nothing and you’ll do it all alone.

The enormous presence next to you - you can’t make out what it is, your eyes have stopped working around when your lungs did - it chirps softly. 

You hear it in - in your soul. It’s fading now. It’s an ember turning to ash. 

Whatever it is, it’s saying goodbye.

You’ve got nothing left to say goodbye with.

*******************************************

There are two hundred and seven bones in the adult human body. There are fifty-three men out here in the snow.

That means, by Sans’ math, there are ten thousand, nine hundred and seventy one bones that need breaking. 

“Sans! What are you-” He shoves Undyne absently out of the way. She doesn’t know. She can’t know.

“Sans, you must stop at-”

“sorry, tori.” He cuts a hole to the king’s palace, and he shoves them all in there in one smooth movement; Undyne, Mettaton, Toriel, Asgore, Lesser Dog. All out of his hair. 

He’d loved your hair so much.

He looks at the pile of men, detained, bound, shaking against the retaining wall. The ones who he’d been toying with before are already quaking - he can pick them out, they’re bloodier than anyone else’s captures. The rest of them will be quaking soon enough. 

“go for it, pal.” He urges the lead Gaster Blaster, resting his hand on its smooth skull for a second. “show ‘em what you got. blow em away.”

The Blasters begin to open their mouths, aimed at the prone men against the retaining wall.

A flash of blue light.

The screaming begins.

As long as it goes on, Sans doesn’t have to think, but it stops eventually, when there’s no more humans, just greasy smears and piles of ash and the scent of burning. The Blasters, one by one, close their mouths, and look at him expectantly, and for a second, he thinks about it, he thinks about opening the door to downtown Mt. Ebott and continuing to rain hell, to kill every human in sight. 

The leader chirrups, and Sans…

He points a shaking finger back at the void. There’s a sense of disappointment from all the Blasters, but one by one, they trail off, going back home. And then he’s alone. You’re gone, and he’s alone, except for-

“Brother?” Papyrus’ voice is soft. Sans spins around. He sees the broken body in Papyrus’ arms, the man in black that must have done this to you, must have started this whole damn thing-

“fifty-four.” Sans croaks. There’s the sound of police sirens now. Right. Someone had called the human police. “paps, put him down. i’ll open a door for you, you need to get out of here.”

“NO! I DID THIS. I DID THIS, I HURT THE HUMAN, I DESERVE-”

“goddamn it.” Sans tears the body from Papyrus’ hands, his eyes stinging, and he rips open another door and throws Papyrus through, to the palace, with the others, before his brother can think to defend himself. 

By the time the first police officer gets to the front door, he’s crouched next to your body - nearly all skeleton now, the product of that void magic chewing away at you - weeping. The single remaining Blaster, the one he’d left to guard your body, is giving him a reproachful look. 

“go home.” He tells the Blaster, but the damn thing won’t budge. “goddamn it. goddamn idiots. you’re all so fucking stupid, go home, get out, before they… fuck!” Sans rages, and tears another hole, why not, shoving the stupid little Blaster back into the void, and then he gathers your skeleton up into his arms, oh fuck, he can’t just leave you, he can’t just - even your bones are disintegrating now. Just that one motion, and you’re half… 

There’s nothing left. The first officer into the backyard points his flashlight at a weeping skeleton in a pile of dust.

“Hands up!” The officer barks. 

“oh, buddy.” Sans whispers, his eye flashing again. “tonight is not your lucky night…” Tonight’s going to be a massacre, one for the history books, because they knew, these human police knew, they knew that people wanted to hurt you and they didn’t, they didn’t fucking, they didn’t - 

This wasn’t what you wanted. 

They’d use this. They’d use this, and him, and they’d lock them all back underground. He’d snapped, and every monster would suffer, if they could prove it. If they could prove that this was monsters. Maybe they couldn’t. Maybe -

He had no intention of sticking around to find out. 

There was nothing there for him anymore. He wasn’t going to let them make him into a criminal. An example. The proof of what humans could do. He wasn’t going to leave anything but a -

Dust. Your dust, in fingers, his chest, the space between his bones. 

A damn -

A cat wails somewhere in the bushes from the back door, and he shakes himself loose from that thought. He doesn’t want to disappoint you like that, even though he knows it’s too late. He’s lost this much before, but that was different. 

No resets on the surface. 

One last time, he slices a tear, and he allows himself to topple back into the void. His old stomping grounds. His old home. He’ll stay here. 

This is the kind of place that drives anyone who stays here mad. 

He stays here. 

He stays here forever. 

\-------------------------------------------------

“What the fuck was that?” The first officer exclaims. 

“Uh. A hell of a lot of paperwork.” Another mutters, looking over the smouldering wreckage of the backyard, into the cold Christmas night.


	5. In Which You and Sans Have a Pretty Similar Take on Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is totally nonessential stuff so it's in DoBD, but here's a full 3k words of Snases' perspective during the course of Chapters [79](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5387672/chapters/14813455) and [80](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5387672/chapters/14872318) of CoBC, because I thought it would be fun to write a smut scene from Sans' perspective and it turns out I just wrote a minor breakdown instead. Technically sexual content warning, headz up. (I also updated this fic to be E rated so I could stick chapters like this in here).

If Undyne gave him that sorrowful, “just be patient, she’ll come around eventually just like MY fiancee did” look even _one_ more time, he was going to lose his damn mind, that’s what he was going to do. He was going to walk over to the DVD player, grab this stupid movie about weddings and throw it at Undyne, ninja-star style, because-

You shift a little, stretching your back and then snuggling back up against him like he’s not all bones, like he’s the most comfortable thing you can imagine, and his soul just _aches_ with love for you. 

It wasn’t a pipe dream. Your talks had been growing more serious, you’d been hinting towards each other that marriage was in the future. You’d been saying things like how you both planned to stick around, you’d been talking long term all of a sudden. And he’d been happy with that, he really had been, until Undyne had said something fully innocuous, and it had hit him like an avalanche, a tiny disturbance that had rapidly gathered momentum until it was now just about the only thing he could fit in his skull this evening. “We’ll have to rush some things.” She’d said, talking about her preparations for her upcoming wedding, “But, you know, why wait? We’ve got this chance right now, we should take it!”

Fuck it, she was right. She was absolutely right. There were no guarantees, up here, no promises that this happiness wouldn’t be snatched away. So why wait? Why pick some meaningless date that would be innocent enough, distant enough in the future for a nosy neighbor or reporter or whatever? It didn’t mean anything, because he’d touched your soul and you’d touched his. He knew you, and you knew him, and all he wanted was to dedicate himself, body and soul, to being your partner, your lover, your best friend…

But you were certainly not ready, not the way you were reacting right now, the way that you’d gotten that fight-or-flight look in your eyes when you’d thought that he might be bold enough to even skirt around the idea of marriage. He couldn’t blame you one bit, either. Humans just didn’t move this fast, even if you _were_ a honorary monster, even if you had the skarm to prove it… damn it, had he seriously just thought of it, in his own head, as a _skarm?_ Fuck! Such a beautiful, graceful, sexy - fuck, not just sexy, **hot** \- such a perfect part of you shouldn’t have such a dumb nickname. Then again, there is no shortage of perfect parts of you, he reflects, his fingers tracing over your ribcage and feeling Undyne’s sympathetic gaze finally drifting away. 

Suddenly, he needs more. If he can’t even bring himself to ask you about the future, he needs a damn good distraction for the both of you. He needs to make you blush and smile and swat at him, he needs that sympathy still lingering in the room to disappear, to become insignificant, replaced by heat in your gaze and your warmth next to him, under him, he needs to remind himself of all the ways you make each other happy, and to engage in as many of the less innocent methods as soon as he has the chance - fuck, _there’s_ an opportunity he can grab, he thinks wryly, and before he knows it, his hand is drifting upwards, because tonight, just tonight, he’s got to take some stupid risk or he’ll go insane, because hell, he is jealous. He’s so goddamn jealous.

He drags his fingers over the side of your breast, smirking to himself when his hypothesis from slightly earlier in the night is confirmed - no bra - and he watches you from the corner of his eye, grinning at your tiny gasp, the slight narrowing of your eyes, and because he’s a little shit (and he knows it!), he does it again almost instantly. Your lips part slightly, and your gaze moves from him to Undyne and Alphys, making sure they’re not watching. His grin grows wider. Fuck, that’s hot. He hadn’t known he was into this, teasing you in public and watching you react, but oh, shit, it turns out that he is very much into this. (And isn’t this better? Yes. This is better than having sweet emotions and then letting those damn emotions become spots as soft and in need of protecting as a fontanelle, a weak join between practiced hardness). 

He decides to push this as far as you’ll permit. Of course he does, he’s thinking almost entirely with his cock at the moment because it is so, so preferable to being wistful and forlorn and… pitied. He drags his fingertips - this time they’re soft, magically padded, because he knows how you love that feeling of magic - very slowly over the side of your breast just once more, trying to see what he can get away with. To his absolute delight, you lean into his touch, slow and deliberate, and god, god that feels so good, having you play along, knowing that you could get caught and doing it anyway, and fuck, he _loves_ you!

You’re looking at him now, that light in your eyes could get him turned on from across a room, hell, across the universe - and then, totally disregarding Undyne or Alphys, you lean in closer and he inhales, sharp and sudden, feeling the wet warmth of your lips and tongue on his neck. How do you do this to him, every single time!? It takes so little from you, so little, before he’s growing hard and his head is spinning with sudden, overwhelming desire. 

Your tongue traces a join between vertebrae, one of those small spaces that is just for you, that would be horrifying if anyone but you so much as touched. He grunts in spite of himself, in spite of your potential audience, goosebumps rippling over skin that isn’t there, and his fingers fan out over your breast, finding the peak of your hard nipple. You moan almost inaudibly - oh, god, when you make that noise, he, he, he can’t- and then you pull away, which is simultaneously terrible and a very smart idea. Right, c’mon Sans, you can’t just do this in front of people… but he waaaants to, the little voice in the back of his head whines. Of course, that little voice almost instantly reminds him of Capra, and that thought is enough to make him sit up straight and look like he’s a respectable young monster with a decent set of manners and morals.

Kinda. 

“much is left in this movie?” He demands impatiently, and is immediately hushed by Undyne, who is having none of his shenanigans right now. She gives him some sort of answer - soon, it was a soon-type answer, but he’s already distracted, having thought of Capra, having thought of places only you were permitted to touch, and his eyes are now focused on your forearm, and he is convincing himself that this is who he wants to be tonight, “playful, horny Sans,” and that nothing in his chest is uncertain or jealous.

Well, this helps a little, running his fingers over your bones, listening to your breath occasionally pick up speed when he finds somewhere particularly interesting. It helps calm the thing-in-his-chest-that-certainly-was-not-aching, because, well, this was something that only the two of you had in common. Well, the two of you and Paps, but Papyrus showed no interest in the romantic applications particular to being a skeleton. You, on the other hand…

“Hey, now I definitely get why you were pissed when Capra touched her arm.” Undyne addresses Sans, and he can’t help it, he simultaneously tenses, unhappy at the reminder of the way that Capra had taken advantage of his mate’s sweet nature, but he also grins, because, well, Undyne can clearly see that you’re in a… perturbed state, and that’s fun. A better man would relent, let you escape, but he’s not a better man. He’s the type of man that drags a finger that’s pulsing with magic down your arm, along the inside. You blush and open your mouth, but you’re unable to get the thought out, whatever it is, and Undyne grins even wider. Alphys tuts, giving him a knowing look that says that he’s being unkind, but Undyne’s already speaking again, “You having a good time, pal?” she purrs at you, and he gives his wildest, hungriest smile yet at your response,

“I… _was_ …” You breathe, and Alphys gives up, giggling, while Undyne’s eyebrows nearly disappear into her hairline. He gazes at you, watching you oscillate between embarrassment and pleasure, and one of those stubborn thoughts bursts through, that you are so damn beautiful (not fuckable, not hot, not any of those words that he might use to distract himself from the real issue). You are so beautiful, so… loved, and god, it hurts. 

It genuinely hurts. 

“A-are you guys headed upstairs? S-should we l-lock up for the night?” Alphys needs to know. Sans collects himself quickly, and by the time he looks away from your eyes, he’s got a supremely lazy expression on his face. 

“go ahead. think we’re gonna watch a few more episodes of something.” He says with a shrug. He can feel you tense slightly in his hold at this, but before he can look at you, assure you that he’s not going to hold out on you, Undyne locks eyes with him, and again - fucking, that sympathy. Are you picking up on that?

God. He’s being so stupid. Here you are, bright eyed and beautiful and you’re _with him_ , and he’s sulking, because, what, because you don’t seem like you want to get married after all of two months of dating? He wants to smack himself, suddenly. He’s being ridiculous. You’re here. You love him. What on earth does he have to complain about? It’s not like you’re complaining, after all, no, you’re snuggled up with him, all pretense of control gone now that Alphys and Undyne have left the room. He grabs the remote, his other hand still lazily drifting over your arm, a grin returning to his face as you begin to scold him. 

“Couldn’t wait for our friends to… mmm.” He peeks at you from the corner of his eyes, and is pleased to note just how flustered you are. The arm thing is funny; it’s not sexual, not really, but it is intensely intimate, and out of the people who’d been in the room tonight, only you and he could really comprehend how bold (and honestly, rude) he’d been, toying with you in front of your friends like that. You don’t seem to mind, all the same. Honestly, you seem just as turned on by the whole thing as he is. So, that’s the game, Sans. As usual, you’re complicating things. Just give her what she wants. 

He picks out a cartoon on Netflix and turns to you, and has to grin at the indignation on your face. “Baby, are we really still watching TV?” You’re protesting, and for a second, he thinks he might be being too cruel, but then you continue, plaintive, “Don’t you wanna go -” and without thinking about it, he grips the bone he’d been stroking, his fingers twisted so audaciously _in_ your arm, and you react so sweetly, whispering “fuck!” in that way that makes him want to laugh and kiss you and a thousand other things all at once, because you are just too perfect to be real. Yes, he did want to go fuck. Well, maybe not “fuck” - he thought that “making love” was such a gross, obnoxious term, but that’s what he wanted, he wanted to be terribly close to you (god, he just wanted to see that you loved him)... 

But you’ve got a wild, mischievous look in your eye, and he’s feeling so insecure, he knows it, and in the end, he just wants to make you happy. It seems like you want something that is not on the tender side of the spectrum, so he just smirks and makes a guess, looking at you, for what might make you happy; “maybe i don’t wanna go all the way upstairs.” It’s the right thing, he sees that instantly, you look so pleased, and then you giggle, and then you even agree;

“Right. So far away.” And that tells him exactly what he needs to know, and it lets him say exactly what you seem to want, especially once you whisper, “You wouldn’t - mmmm, Sans.”

He would do anything to hear you say his name like that, for the rest of his life. And he knows what you want now. He scratches his finger against the delicate bones of your wrist, and you gasp, then pry his hand loose. In spite of that gesture, you’re leaning closer, looking like this couch is exactly where you want to be. 

“want you here,” He guesses, and bites back a grin when you blush, looking, at the same time, quite excited. “‘s so _hard_ , seeing you blush when we eat in the kitchen.” Actually, it was hard only in the colloquial sense of the word - god, you would think that having an incorporeal dick would solve the random boner problem, right, but when he sits down next to you at the kitchen table and you squirm awkwardly, clearly thinking of that tryst, sometimes he has to _stay_ seated for quite some time. “i was thinkin’, maybe it would be good for you if the kitchen wasn’t the only place we misused. for the sake of your blushing. get you acclimated.” He teases, grinning, and the way you look at him after that, oh god… you are the most perfect being, and at last, he gets to kiss you. 

While his lips are on yours, everything is ideal. He leans hard into you, his tongue sliding into your mouth, and when you don’t have any complaints about that, his hand snakes up your shirt as well. God, your skin is so _soft_. He’d never thought he’d be with someone like you, so… well, so human. No hard edges - no, that wasn’t true, you had just the right hard edges, just the perfect contrast, but there was still so much softness, your skin, your belly, your breasts… you inch away from his mouth and he continues pushing your shirt up, his tongue lolling out, breathing hard, as he determines that he’ll kiss or lick every single part of you before he’s done.

“Mhm,” You’re saying, “Nothing to do with wanting to bone me in every room of the house, then?”

Oh, that was a spectacular idea.

“nothin’.” He says lightly, doing his very best to let you think that this had been his plan the whole time, his smile huge and starving. That much, at least, is fully genuine. He leans into you, nudging you back onto the sofa as he tries to wrest your shirt off, and he shivers just a little as he shifts against you, grinding his erection against you through layers of clothing. You’re watching him closely, that knowing look in your eyes ( _”oh, Sans is such an animal when he’s horny,”_ he imagines you telling Undyne later, that combination of laughing tolerance and scandalized satisfaction in your voice, and he can do that, if that’s what you want, he can be the animal, the _monster_ , the insatiable being who took you in kitchens and laundry rooms, on sofas, at work, whatever, as long as you kept him with you, oh, fuck, hell, ________… keep him with you, just, just find that he’s worth keeping-)

And then you kiss him, and it’s nothing like how he’s been kissing you, there’s no roughness, no lust, and your hand is on his cheekbone, your fingers as soft as a wisp of spiderweb. You kiss him like this because you love him. Oh, fuck, you love him. You love him so tenderly, and he wants you, not panting under him, he wants you by his side, he wants you in his bed every morning, he wants you when you’re old and wrinkly, and suddenly he can’t be this guy, he can’t be the empty-headed idiot grinding his stupid, glowing, novelty magic dick against your leg! He doesn’t want to fuck you right now, he wants to love you, to cherish you, to be your partner, and by now he’s stopped kissing you, stopped everything, and for just a moment that’s all on his face for you to see. 

“Sans…” Your hand is resting just above his soul, and he wants to scream, cry, explain himself, he just… he doesn’t want to play right now, he just wants to be yours. He was scared. You had to feel it, right, that gathering wave of menace in the background? You had to notice, right, that it seemed like things were going to get better before they got worse? 

Maybe he could make himself say what he needed to say. Maybe he could shed the nerves and the jealousy and all those things and say something right for once. He opens his mouth.

Papyrus wakes from a nightmare and yells his name. 

\-------------------------------------

That night, he’s reassured. He’s comforted and held onto, and fine, _fine_ , “made love to.” 

And if a line of polite monster society is crossed that night, if you touch his soul with very human fingers as you make love to him, well, he doesn’t feel the need to tell you that most monsters would be scandalized to hear an unmarried couple had done so. The two of you had never played by the rules when it came to soul stuff anyway, and you were right to do it, as usual. It snaps him out of his panicky self doubt, it bares him open to you, and several hours later, when it’s feeling like a war might’ve just started and the two of you are quick and quiet with fear and determination, you say those words anyway. You’re the one to say them, without being asked.

It makes things so much easier, in a way. He’s not gonna let anyone get hurt. That’s not part of the plan. After all…

He’s gonna marry the hell out of you.


	6. In Which Capra Gets Some Bad News

A phone call at 3 AM is… oh, that’s never a good thing.

The inside of his skull hurts. It feels like it’s full of, ugh, lava or acid or something, sloshing around in there, and the cordless phone on the side of his bed is ringing and fuck fuck fuck. 

He reaches over and fumbles for the receiver, groaning awfully pathetically. Get your shit together, Peter. Clear throat, sound fresh. You don’t _let_ people see that you’re mortal enough to succumb to something as mundane as a hangover. Practice. 

“Hello?” 

Good enough. He presses the button on the receiver. 

“Hello?” 

“Have you heard?” He grimaces at the voice. Mike Andrews is not a personal friend. He is, frankly, barely a person. The only things he has in common with the guy is a shared office wall, a vague “vice president” title, and a metric assload of ambition.

“Andrews, you’d better have a fucking spectacular reason for calling me at three in the morning. I mean, like, phenomenal. Life shattering -” 

“They’re dead, dude.” 

“Who’s dead?” He groans. 

Andrews tells him. 

He listens, his stomach twisting. He says the right things. There’s going to have to be meetings tomorrow, of course. There will be speeches and a moment of silence - he argues halfheartedly for the entire day off for the employees, but fuck, he can’t do that yet. He’ll have to wait, lobby the board, make his case, demonstrate his worth, his shares… and Andrews will be doing that too, of course. Still. For now, they pretend to be partners. They do what needs to be done. 

He hangs up the phone, and walks slowly and steadily into the bathroom. 

He vomits. 

He looks at himself in the mirror. 

He begins to sob. Big, ugly, stupid tears. He shuts the bathroom door - he’s alone in his apartment, he just does it anyway, _just in case._

A fucking… a car crash? Of all the stupid, mindless, idiotic things. A car crash? Two of the smartest, most generous, brilliant… _fuck!_ Fuck. 

He remembers meeting them, that interview on campus, the look they’d given each other when he walked in, ill-fitting suit, wild hair, scrawny and awkward and _hungry_ , hungry for everything, how the two of them had seemed so cool, so composed, but so… understanding, too. How their eyes had lit up as he talked, how the fifteen minute interview had turned into an hour, then dinner at their house - a small house that was all packed up for a move, their daughter wandering around and laughing and being doted on and chasing the cat and - 

Oh god. Their daughter. Oh… god. They’d both been taken in one quick motion, and she must be - oh, fuck. Oh no. 

She’d been such a good kid. She _is_ such a good kid. It’s been almost a year since he last saw her, but- no, she was just getting old to need watching, that was all, it was just that she was almost ten, no, god, she was ten already. That was all. 

It wasn’t that her parents - his friends - that they didn’t like what he was becoming. He was twenty-six. It was _time_. He couldn’t be the goofball nerd forever, he had to take control of himself. And he had. He had. He knew who he was and he knew _what_ he was and goddamn, they couldn’t resent him, right? For learning the game, for figuring out what people wanted to hear and saying it, for getting nice suits and figuring out how to talk to girls - and guys - and knowing that sophisticated people ordered expensive scotch, neat, and wore suits that were made to fit them, and fuck, he had money, why not? Why the fuck not?!

No. Stop. Stop thinking about that. It doesn’t matter anyway, Peter. They’re gone. And she - no. She’s got family, after all. That little girl doesn’t need an asshole like him, her parents had made that clear - no. Stop. 

Stop. 

He’ll write a letter tomorrow. He’ll… yes. He’ll write a letter tomorrow. Propose to the board that a trust be set up for her. He’ll make sure that Paula gets word that he’s willing to help, however he can. Maybe he’ll hear back. Maybe he won’t. He probably won’t. 

Fuck. 

They were his _friends_.

They had been his friends. 

Now that they were gone, what did he have? 

Same thing you always had, Peter. It’s always just been you. You let them get too close, you let _yourself_ grow too reliant, and now, fuck, now they’re gone and you’re…

A little bit sadder and a little bit emptier and a little bit worse off. 

He’ll write that letter. He’ll make the effort. He’ll learn a lesson. 

He slaps some water on his face, and stares in the mirror. He looks like shit, but his eyes will be less bloodshot and puffy by the time he gets into work, an hour or so from now. 

He gets dressed. 

He walks down to the garage. 

A fucking car crash. Shit like that didn’t have to happen. Human error. He’d fix it. 

He’s fine. 

He’s fine.


	7. In Which Capra Stepped Up To The Plate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked me what it would have been like if Capra had actually stepped in when Reedz' parents died and been that big brother figure. So I wrote it. In some other timeline, this totally happened.

“Please?”

“I gotta.”

“Okay, but hear me out, the thing is that you don’t gotta.”

He levels his stare at you over his sunglasses, raising both eyebrows. 

“I really, really gotta.” 

“Pete. Please? Pleaaase?” You attempt. It’s too late. He pushes open the doors to your high school, and you consign yourself to the battle being entirely lost.

“Okay, where’s this Mrs. Pierson’s classroom, anyway?”

“It’s down that hall, but she’s not going to be in there, it’s after class, she’s gonna be in the teacher’s lounge or maybe she went home, yes, she probably went home so we can just turn around and also go home, right-”

“Let’s just check her classroom. Anyway. Just to be sure.” He says silkily, with that voice that means that he’s seen through your ploy entirely. 

“Goddamn asshole…” You grumble, and he stops in his tracks. 

“Hey. What did I tell you about cursing?” He demands.

“To use it judiciously for the most effect or also like if I stub my toe.” You parrot back. “What did I tell you about wearing your sunglasses inside?”

“It makes me look like a douche.” He sighs, folds up his sunglasses, and slips them into the pocket of the blazer of his stupid perfect Armani suit. Stupid Peter. “C’mon, kid.”

“Okay, but please understand that all you’re accomplishing here is making me look whiny and also jeopardizing my run for salutatorian-”

“I’m not jeopardizing that. Mrs. Pierson is. That’s why we’re going to go fix it.” Peter says placidly, then, when he sees the look on your face, he groans. “Hey. I’ll make it up to you. Bulgogi tonight? Eh? We can order in and watch the South Park movie??”

“Fine.” You grumble. “It’s this one.” You gesture at room 203, and he grins at you, that million watt smile. 

“Let’s get this fixed.” He doesn’t knock, of course. He just shoves the door open, strolling right over to the desk where Mrs. Pierson is sitting, clearly attempting to grade the exam you’d taken today. She glances up over her reading glasses, first annoyed, then a little flustered. God, you hate that, when people see Peter and just kind of swoon a little. It’s not like he’s handsome! He’s OLD. He’s like… thirty-three. Practically a million. 

“Er. Is there something I can help you with?” She asks, looking between you and Peter with growing confusion. Peter turns to you. 

“Homework.” He demands, and you groan, taking off your backpack, and fishing out the packet. “Thanks.” He flashes you another blinding, thousand-watt smile, and then turns back to Mrs. Pierson. “She got a ninety-three on this. What the hell.” Mrs. Pierson looks up at you, now absolutely bewildered. Behind Peter’s back, you give an apologetic shrug, your face heating up. 

“Er… well, yes, she did? She only got one question wrong.” Mrs. Pierson finally says, slowly reaching out to accept the packet. 

“No. She got zero questions wrong. I looked this over myself.” Peter says irritably. A look of dawning comprehension crosses Mrs. Pierson’s face.

“Oh. I see. So you must be her-”

“Legal Guardian. Peter Capra. So why the hell are you marking her down when she’s answered everything right?”

“Well. Mr. Capra. The question was ‘Were dinosaurs warm blooded or cold blooded,’ and page 13 of the students’ textbooks clearly states-”

“Your books are old. And wrong. And honestly kind of shit?” Peter snaps. You glare daggers at him, enough that even he has to notice, especially when Mrs. Pierson looks taken aback. “Sorry. Just, they are.” He says, and shrugs. “A) general scientific consensus is that dinosaurs are warm blooded, B) this is AP Bio, can we at least use the terms endotherm and ectotherm because that’s what’s going to be on her exam, and C), these books are such shit! I’m sorry.” He apologizes at you. “I’m sorry. But they are! You can’t learn anything from this. I looked through, there isn’t even anything about RNA! How many of your students got fives on the exam last year?!” He suddenly demands of your teacher. 

“Mr. Capra, that hardly seems-”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He turns back to you. “We’re totally sending you to private school.” 

“No we’re not.” You say patiently. He locks eyes with you, and you clench your jaw, staring him down until-

“Fine!” He throws his hands in the air, then turns back to Mrs. Pierson. “You’re totally giving her full credit for this assignment, though.”

“Mr. Capra, that hardly seems fair-”

“What’s unfair is marking her down when she’s right. Look.” He fishes out his blackberry. “This is an email from the professor of paleontology at the University.” He hands the phone over, and Mrs. Pierson, to her credit, reads through it. Finally, with a sigh, she nods her head. 

“Fine. Full credit. But Mr. Capra, this really isn’t the way we do things-”

“About those books.” Peter’s already moved on. “I get it. Money’s tight. How much would it cost for the school to get new science books? Math too.”

“Pete.” You clear your throat, and he looks over at you, then rolls his eyes. 

“Fine. English too. History or whatever.” He grumbles. 

“Well… I would imagine several tens of thousands of dollars. Perhaps more, I would need to-”

“Tell you what.” He whips out his checkbook, and you groan, running your fingers through your hair. “Have the principal invoice me. Here’s ten thousand. To get you started. I’m putting for textbooks in the memo line, cool? You can do rush delivery. In fact, please. Do rush delivery. I seriously don’t want her learning the garbage in that other book for even another week. Okay?” He signs the check with a flourish, and hands it over to the flummoxed Mrs. Pierson.

“...O...kay.” She stammers out, a look of disbelief slowly turning into delight as she stares at the check. 

“Killer.” Peter grins, then looks at you, raising his eyebrows as if to say “see?”

“Okay Mrs. Pierson thank you we gotta go now for real haha thanks!” You mumble out quickly, and tug Peter’s sleeve (knowing very well that it’ll make him move because he hates that), urging the two of you back towards the hall. 

“T-thank you!” Mrs. Pierson calls out after you.

“De nada.” Peter says casually as the door closes behind him, and then stops again, grinning at you. “See? See? I told you. All fixed. Who’s the world’s best legal guardian?”

“Somebody else!” You groan, but you can’t help but smile at him all the same. He’s waiting. “Oh my god, really?” He doesn’t say anything, just rocks slightly on his heels. “You’re really going to make me - fine. Thank you, Pete.” 

“You’re welcome.” He drawls. “Bulgogi time?”

“I gotta do homework.”

“C’mon, kid, I just wrote you a get out of homework free pass for like, at least a month.”

“Pete.”

“Fine, fine. So. While we’re walking through these esteemed halls of learning, my mind wanders to this football douche I hear you’re dating-”

“Oh my god, do you have spies?!”

“What’s his GPA again? I didn’t know GPAs could be lower than 1.”

“Pete, oh my god.”

“Your parents would be horrified. They didn’t raise you to date a dumbass.”

“He’s nice!”

“He got arrested last year for throwing piss filled water balloons at kindergartners. At a goddamn teddy bear picnic in the park.”

“Oh my god, you really do have spies, don’t you!?”

“You gonna break up with him?”

“Ugh. Well, now I gotta, that’s terrible! Ew, he really… ugh! Asshole.”

“You’re a good kid. We’ll find a science nerd for you someday.” 

“Jesus christ.”

“Hey.” He pauses. “I’m just trying to look out for you. I’m doing my best.” You sigh, then smile up at him. 

“I know, Pete. Thanks. Let’s get some food and watch some cartoons say ‘fuck.’.”

“Fuck yeah.” He grins - not his thousand watt smile, a real one. A genuine one. You duck your head, smiling too. Still, you wait until you’re both in the car, until he’s done fiddling around with his prototype software that maybe, someday, maybe, will be good enough that the car will drive itself.

“Really. Thanks. For the textbooks. Everyone will be really happy.”

“Hey, you need to learn! And what they had in there was bullshit!” He says, but he smiles a bit too long for you to believe that it had all been out of indignation.

“Still. Thanks. I love you.” You say quietly, looking ahead, not at him. There’s a tiny pause, and then he laughs. 

“Oh my god, you’re such a nerd!”

“Pete!”

“Biggest nerd at Ebott High!”

“Not while you’re following me inside to yell at my teachers!”

“Touche.” He laughs, then looks more seriously at you. “Love you too, kid.” 

This wasn’t the family you’d planned on. It wasn’t the family you’d wanted. 

But it works.

It works.


	8. In Which Capra Stepped Up To The Plate Part 2 There's More

He’s just gonna go inside, check on the kid, and leave. 

He’s not gonna freak out that nobody had answered the house phone in two days - even at times where, really, there should be someone home to answer.

He’s not gonna freak out that when he’d checked on the disposition of the EbbCo shares to the kid, that the accountants had said that there had been patterns of selling that were already… _irregular._

The kid doesn’t want him there. She wants her family. He’s just… being cautious. That’s all.

Money did funny things to people. Paula had money now, and money did funny things, and…

There’s no cars in the garage. He’d put his hands up, peeked in the windows. It doesn’t make sense. Like, okay. Everyone knew where _one_ of the family’s cars was, well, maybe not specifically, but the general vicinity of the sea floor at least, right…

God, how much was the Jag worth? At least fifty, right? Maybe less, but still, that was a chunk of change, if it got sold, and…

Okay, and nobody’s answering the phone or the doorbell and…

It’s not breaking and entering. 

He _has_ a key.

He steps inside, through the threshold into the foyer, heart stuttering in his chest. Why the hell is it so cold in here? Hadn’t Paula turned the furnace on? It was a little complicated, sure, but he’d done it himself, once or twice, and it’s November, almost December, and…

“Kid?” He calls, and grimaces, his voice sounding raspy. “________? You home, bud?” 

There’s a clang, a clatter of metal off in the distance - if the house hadn’t been so still and cold and silent, he might have missed it. This house was too damn big. 

“_________. Buddy. It’s Peter.” He tries again, padding quietly through the house, keeping his eyes open. It’s dark in there! And… dirty. Not like, filthy. Not like there’s rotting food everywhere. Just, a place like this, it’s big, and it takes a lot of work, keeping it clean. It’s weird. Unsettling, even. Seeing this place less than spotless.

“Ummmmm…” There’s a tiny voice, somewhere in the region of the kitchen. He doesn’t know why, exactly, that makes his heart shudder again, why all of a sudden, he’s done with walking quietly and observing, why he’s broken out into a jog.

“Kid?!” He busts through the archway into the kitchen, his stomach twisting.

“MROWRRR.” Before he can move any further, suddenly, the cat - Ghost - is tangled in his legs, clinging to him and letting out long, low wails of desperation. Oh god, something’s definitely wrong, that cat had always been fat as hell and now, winding around his ankles and wailing, he can feel all of its bones.

“I’m sorry! I tried! I’m sorry! We ran out of cat food, and then we ran out of tuna, and then he wouldn’t eat the turkey, I think it’s bad, I don’t think it’s supposed to last more than a week, I’m sorry, I tried-”

“Kid, it’s okay!” He still hasn’t laid eyes on you - the sun goes down so early this time of year, and it’s so dark, it takes him a second to make out a small shape hunched behind the other side of the island, cringing like like you’re ready for a blow to fall. “________. Bud. Hey. Hey.” He hears himself muttering, the tone of voice he hears that dog whisperer use on TV, when he’s worried an animal’s gonna bolt, or lash out. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“I gotta feed Ghost.” A tearful voice insists.

“Okay. ‘S okay. We’re gonna get him some food. I’m just gonna turn the light on, okay?” He breathes, and he waits for the sniffle that means yes.

“I’m gonna be in so much trouble. I’m not supposed… nobody’s supposed to be here. She’s just on vacation. She said she’s coming home.”

“You’re not going to be in trouble.” He breathes distractedly, feeling along the wall and finding the light switch. 

He recoils, then immediately regrets it.

The whites of your eyes are so white, the bruising around one of them, so dark. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper again, ducking your head.

“No. No. Shh. Kid.” He swallows, trying not to feel anger right now. Anger feels good, but it’s not helpful. It’s not helpful at all, and you need him. “C’mere.” 

MROWR, Ghost agrees pointedly.

Slowly, on coltish, wobbly legs, you make your way around the kitchen island. You stop a few feet in front of him, staring up at him with enormous, indecipherable eyes. Then-

“Kid. Please. I’m here to help.” He whispers, and before he can even fully articulate the thought, you bolt-

-he flinches- 

\- you leap towards him, cling to him, shaking so hard as the cat winds between you, screaming his hunger, and he can feel all of your bones, and -

“I’m sorry.” It’s his turn. “I’ve got you now. It’s gonna be okay-”

“Don’t go. Don’t go.”

“I won’t.” He whispers. “I promise. I won’t.” 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Thirteen years later, and you are just the hugest, hugest pain in his ass.

“Call the robot.” You say boredly, swinging your legs up onto Sans’ lap. Peter perches in his recliner, just… seething.

“he doesn’t gotta.” Sans says halfheartedly. 

Sans was good. Sans was a pal.

Granted, he was a pal that had successfully knocked up Peter’s kid kinda-sister when, by all accounts, she should be going for her doctorate, so he was kind of still on Peter’s shit list, but...

“He hasn’t dated in four years. And like. You can’t even call that a date.” You sigh, rubbing your eye tiredly. “He came home at _eight._ ”

“well, you can’t push him.” Sans snickers.

“Well, so here’s the funny thing.” You say, and you have the good grace to look, at the very least, a little guilty. “It turns out I can push him.”

“Oh what the fuck.” Peter groans. “What did you-”

“He’s kicking again!” You cut him off to grab your fiance’s hand, wrenching it to your stomach. “Jeez, he’s really… how many legs does this little dude have?” You squint at Sans. “You got multiple legs in your family you’re not telling me about, bonehead?” 

“well. technically. when gaster tried to kill us-”

“NOT what I’m talking about.”

“well, i dunno! not like the douche gave us a family tree that contained like, uh, number of legs-”

“Look.” Peter clears his throat. “You were talking shit. Not in your usual way. In an alarming way. Can we have less gestating and more on that topic?”

“Hah. Right.” You clear your throat - still holding Sans’ hand on your belly like a talisman, which the skeleton seems to have absolutely no problem with - and then give Peter that worrying smile that you’d practiced over the years. “So. I did some checking. And he’s totally free tonight.”

“What do you mean by some checking.” Peter says, a feeling of dread engulfing him. 

“Well. You know. I called Alphys and asked if Mettaton was free tonight. And then said that you were also free tonight. And that you were _shy._ And that I caught you with that Mettaton issue of Teen Beat-”

“What the fuck!?”

“Was it not Teen Beat?” You wrinkle your nose innocently. 

“It was the New Yorker!” He hisses. Sans, that bastard, that beautiful fucking asshole, begins to snicker unpleasantly. 

“Anyway. It turns out that Mettaton would be delighted to get to know you better. Over sushis. Tonight.” You say sweetly. 

“What. The. Fuck.” 

“hey, i told her not to. kinda.” 

“It’s not like you’re not already dressed for it, Pete.” You point out. He’s wearing his suit. Well, he wasn’t just going to change the second he got through the door, even if he’d never broken you of that habit-

“yeah, you look super sexy.” 

“Stop it. Both of you. Oh my god. This is the actual-”

“Doorbell!” You call out, all chipper and annoying. “Oh. You’ll have to get it. Too pregnant. Can’t get up.” 

“I am going to kill you. Later. Both of you. I’m going to take apart your skarm and feed it to Khal Drogo.” Peter warns halfheartedly. The pitbull, dozing at his feet, looks up and huffs. 

“Khal Drogo would never eat my arm. He’s a good baby boy.” You coo, then jerk your head towards the foyer. “Robot’s waiting.”

“We’re talking about this later.” He growls, and gets to his feet, feeling mortified and… oh, fuck, excited?

His palms are sweating. This is the goddamn worst. 

“Look, I’m super sorry, I didn’t know that they were going to - I mean - Oh…” He lets out in a rush, swinging the door open, and then he just stands there like an imbecile. 

He’d forgotten how _good_ Mettaton looked. The robot’s just blinking at him, but even that… oh, god, he was weak. He was too weak for this-

“I… got you flowers.” Mettaton says shyly. 

Flowers. What the fuck was he going to do with flowers? They served no function! They were just kind of there, and then they died and then-

“Wow. Uh. Thanks.”

He accepts the bouquet. He’s… blushing. Oh god. 

“I feel like this is weird.” He starts, self conscious. “It’s just that I don’t really do this, like… ever. I mean. You met the kid - well, the grownass pregnant lady, it’s just - uh. You know. I had to learn how to do all the… guardian stuff, and I, I didn’t, uh. Date. Do any of that... I’m being way too honest now, huh, I’m sorry, s’just that-”

“Oh goodness.” Mettaton looks him over. “She wasn’t lying, was she? You’re... “ He trails off, and somehow he’s blushing too now, which doesn’t make any sense, and yet-

“A huge nerd who’s bad at dating.” He grumbles.

“A catch.” Mettaton corrects delicately. “Let’s go get sushi. Do me a favor. Forget this is a date. Just… we’re just two people meeting again.”

Peter swallows. 

“Okay. I am… good at meetings, at least.” He mutters, and ducks inside to put the flowers down, leaning down to give Ghost a quick scratch.

“Is that a kitten?!” Mettaton exclaims. 

“Hardly.” Peter scoffs. “He’s like a million. He’s my pal, though. This is Ghost.” 

“Ghost.” Mettaton pauses, and then beams at Peter, and that smile is so wide, so genuine- “I like that name.”

“Fuck yeah!” A small, annoying, obviously eavesdropping voice can’t resist from calling out, down the hall. Mettaton notices, and - well, at least it just makes him smile.

“Should we go then?!” Peter says quickly.

“I would love that.” Mettaton agrees, offering his hand.

Five hours later, and robot lips are somehow soft, and he has so many questions - so many, he could fill a goddamn notebook, but right now, that doesn’t strictly matter, none of it strictly matters and - 

You’re not a pain in the ass. 

Maybe he was waiting, all that time, for this.


End file.
